Ustalav, cold and miserable, even in the spring months. The land looked green enough, but the sounds of animals and birds was muffled somehow, as if they were too frightened to draw attention to themselves. Filds of crops sat like a forlorn hope amongst greyish woods and run down villages.

The heavy coach lumbered along a well worn roadway, it's wheels following the ruts of a hundred carriages before it. Two well armed outriders led the way, their eyes scanning the wooded lanes carefully, both of them urging the coach driver to keep the vehicle moving so they could make their destination by nightfall. No one wanted to be on the road when the light of the sun sank behind the great hills to the west. Things came out and fed at night in this land.

Inside the heavy darkness of the armoured passenger compartment sat five strangers. Each were caught up in their own thoughts, but they all had one thing in common. A simple piece of parchment, once sealed by red wax and carrying the arcane mark of a man they had all met at least once. Each of them now travelled to his funeral, summoned by his daughter as part of the man's last will and testiment.

Take the chance here to describe your character, and maybe have some sort of in character conversation with others. Note this part is just to get some idea of what you're doing in the game thread and get a feel for your new character. We're still a bit away from starting as some folks are busy and haven't sorted toons out yet.

Ulric looks over everyone, making his assessments and not caring too much to break off any stares that get noticed. He's quite out of sorts, being in the bloody carriage. He asked for a horse as he hated to travel any roads without seeing the terrain and wearing his comforting layers of protection. He kept his shield and sword beside him though, not apologetic about the space they took up. He didn't know these folk so he kept his hands close enough to the daggers concealed near his waist. A couple times conversation had been kindled but sputtered out soon after. He really didn't care much about that. Obviously, everyone was considering what change of fortune, if any, might be coming their way. Ulric, quite content to continue as he already was in life only decided to come because he had no current contract to uphold. "Might I suggest that if any of you who currently have weapons upon them, keep them close to hand. I know this country well and we are too near to dusk to travel unprepared for hazard. This little journey to fortune could well finish in blood if we don't make town soon. Not to be an omen of ill, just stating facts. Ulric Vastagar by the way, the pleasure is mine." He grips his longsword within its scabbard in a reverse fashion, its tip resting upon the carriage floor.

I don't like it, I don't like it, I don't like it, Malstrom was continuing saying to himself, it's just not right. The inner termoil was all consuming.

Looking down to his hand where he held a piece of steel, his thumb subconsciously rubbing up and down its legnth. At one time it would have been an inch thick, now it was probably half that concaved in from its treatment. Bringing the flat back of the steel to rest upon his cheek, Malstrom took a deep breath, calmed himself and said

Hail fellow travelers I am Malstrom Kolosvar, what brings such a fine group of citizens to be travelling in this carriage in this god forsaken land?

In a flat tone, as he's gazing out one of the carrage windows, "Only the foolish travel these lands unarmed and only the trusting openly discuss their reasons for traveling." Archeos' expression difficult to read due to the half-mask he's wearing and the statement seems at odds with the fact that he is not visibly armed.

"I'm Archeos," the comment is off handed and disinterested as if one might have stated "that is a horse".

Ulric snorts derisively at the mask wearers comment. "Trust me! I know where you're heading as we all are on the same bearing. Notice my hands if you will. One on my sword and one lingering over a dagger. I spoke to take measure of those in my company by their words. Your response speaks volumes."

He looks to Malstrom. "Nice to meet you master gnome. Malstrom was it? I don't know about you but I'm here for an answer to a mystery."

Ahh Archeos, I am pleased to meet your aquainence and you Sir Ulric. There is nothing sinister or mysterous about my travels. I have come to say goodbye to an old teacher, he past away just recently. He was very dear to me, taught me many things, helped me immensely, last time I saw him was probably even before you were born young Ulric. How time flies, I should have made a better effort to to keep in touch. I owe him so much

As Malstrom looked forlornly into his lap he realised he had stopped rubbing the peice of steel, this sudden realisation jerked him back to reality, he smiled to his other traveling comrades and continued his work on the steel.

Now Ulric may not have remembered the man who had passed from this life but seeing someone before him with an obvious emotional connection to this stranger somehow connected him to this world. He could then genuinely intone a succinct prayer for his patrons 'ears'. "May he greet Pharasma gracefully." He didn't quite like being addressed as Sir but thought he would ignore it this one time.

"Teachers, mentors ... such things do not often end well" Archeos states distantly as he continues to stare blankly out the window. After a few seconds he shakes his head and turns to face Malstrom, "That's an interesting steel. I don't recall ever seeing one like it."

Sitting quietly looking at the others in the coach Brethan wonders if they are seasoned warriors or filled with excitemtne at starting out on his first adventure, so excited...heart pumping....vision dimming....
deep breathing, deep breathing...must regain control...

I am Brethan Snowspitter of the Khellid. I go because Petros Lorrimor has asked me to go
[b]I think i need some air. Can i ride up on top[b]

Ulric appraises Brethan, his youth full upon his face and in his manner unfinished. He admired the rough edge to the young man who had obviously seen combat even at his young age. His hands were rough and labored which meant he wasn't afraid of work. Yes, he could get along with this kid. "I am with you Brethan, I greatly dislike being contained so. Swing the door open at least and let some air in."

Brethan swings the door ajar to allow air to flow in. Not too chilly it stills a crisp bite to it that clears his mind and brings thoughts of home and tribe in. He feels better and realises that the swaying rocking motion of the coach was making him feel unsettled"Ahh i feel better already. Let me know if it gets to cold for anyone and I shall close it."

Brethan thinks to himself:

Night closes, and i don't know how far from lodging we are. I may have to get out my torch and weapon. Icebreaker i have named you, and we will make you worthy of the title.

The Cold air snaps Lucem out of her reverie. Watching the sun set always seemed to dampen her sprits. Knowing that the light that shows all and has protected her was fading once again. She took solice in her medallion of Sarenrae, it was her strength in the darkness. It was also a treasured gift from the man who had summoned her, from his grave it seemed. She was also troubled by the fact that she was the only woman in the group. But it seemed that any eyes she saw looking her way were on her face or her weapons. A lesson learnt long ago meant that she kept her dagger close at hand when travelling with men in close quarters. So far she hadn't sensed anything menacing from the others, just the usual male bravado.
Taking in a deep breath and using the crispness to clear her lungs.
"My thanks for opening the door. The air has a cleansing affect, I think we need our spirits cleansed before we farewell our friend. Well met, I am Lucem. Since our dear friend has requested us all to celebrate his passing it seems we have touched his life in some way. We may all share in some quaity. And travelling unarmed dear Ulric may not be that quality" As she winks at Ulric, deftly bringing the dagger out of its hiding place, and putting it back again before anyone could react.

Ulric smiles at Lucem. "My, my Lucem. Why just a flash? By the look of your garb I would say you use that for healing above all else, yes? I too have dealt much healing and counseling with my weaponry. They certainly heed you well when wielding such divine instruments."

Smirking at Ulric "One 'flash' from me and you let your guard down. It's not just my healing that you should be wary of.... Well now is that a personality I see behind your steel? This farewell could be more interesting than I'd anticipated." Lucem turns to Malstrom and watches him methodically rub his piece of steel.

Lucem stares:

Madness and only that piece of metal seems to be his tether from it. She shivers inwardly...where is that smell coming from? She turns to Brethan.

Still engaged with Lucem, "I'll take that on-board for I have no doubt you speak a truth." He turns to Brethan, "Boy, keep your mites to yourself. You are amongst a new kind of company now, we are not of your people."

The conversation took their minds from the dullness of the trip, and before long, the coach began to rattle on cobbled roads rather than empacted dirt. As the heavy wagon pulled to a stop, the group could see a tidy little hamlet sprawled around them.

The buildings mostly stood constructed of Tudor style plaster and board, with heavy shingle roofing to ward off the incessent rain and drizzle in this part of the world. A few buildings were constructed of heavy black stone, mined from the Bezkan mountains in the distant west. Most likely these would be used for defensive fallbacks when the inevitable orc raids drifted in from those very same mountains.

A heavy round church, dedicated to Pharasma dominated the village itself, while on a nearby hill, the burnt and ruined remains of a huge stone building stood looking over the village. The heavy walls and empty windows gave the grim impression of some skeletal visage glaring down across the landscape, and a chill ran up most of their spines at the first sign of this edifice.

KnowledgelocalDC15:

The building is known as Harrowstone. An old prison that was destroyed nigh on 50 years ago by some great fire.

As the group dismount from the coach and unload thier gear, they notice the stares of the townsfolk who are still about in the ever darkening dusk. They looked to be of hardy stock, but their faces clearly showed the distrust and suspicion they held for strangers.

The coachman leapt from his seat and unloaded the mail bag while the two outriders orgainised for teh wagon to be stored and the horses stabled for the night. Without so much as a backward glance, all three men left teh group to their own devices.

Well, you're in a village called Ravengro. You were summoned here by a letter from the estate of Professer Petross Lorrimor, a man all of you met at some stage in the past. The letter doesn't provide much info, just that he is to buried upon your arrival in Ravengro and you should report to his estate as soon as you arrive. Over to you

Ulric immediately looks to his gear. Stepping down from the carriage with his scabbard fastened at his hip and shield slung over shoulder. He grabs his backpack and looks about the solemn town. He retrieves his Flail from his gear and carries it. The flail, his favored weapon has an inscription upon it which he intones to Pharasma's as he enters battle. Once ready with his gear, his flail chain resting over his shoulder so as not to look threatening, he looks about and calls out. "My lady, Pharasma has seen to take Professor Lorrimor. We here all, arrive to pay our respects and witness his bodies commitment to the earth. Directions to his estate if you please."

I will get out of the coach and check my kit. Make sure that i'm not tripping over Icebreaker, step towards the the nearest citizen and say "Goodman/woman (whichever the case may be) please point me in the direction of the Lorrimor estate, or whoever is handling his affairs".
My only skill really is intimidate. D20+3 = 16+3=19.
If that gets me spat at I will head to the nearest inn. When in doubt drink it out.

The older warrior steps from the coach and approaches a crone hanging around the town square. Her shawl couches her face in shadows, and her back is slightly stooped with age, but the woman looks firm enough as she carries a basket of produce along the cobbled yard.

At Ulric's approach and demeanor, she turns her head and spits a phlegmy gobbet of filth onto the street, before proceeding along as if not hearing him. As she turned to go however, the looming form of Brethan strode into view. His voice boomed as he demanded directions to the Estate of his old aquaintance, clearly cowing the old woman. She cringed from the hulking barbarian for a moment, before pointing with her gnarled hand down one of the laneways. "Tis down the end of yonder street. Now leave an old lady be so she can get inside afore the sun sinks full behind the mountains"

She scurried away, casting a last glance over her shoulder before again spitting and making a spiralling sign of protection across her heart.

Archeos watched the exchange with some amusement, looking to see if someone more official was available to talk to, but it seemed as if even the town militia were keen to be off the streets tonight.

Ulric spits after the old hag. "Hag, before long you will be towed under and I will gladly pile the dirt upon you." He mumbles to himself, Filthy b!~*!. He looks around to Brethan, "A good result mite bag."

Lucem Grabs her bag and steps down to the road holding the pummel of her scimitar. She steps away from Brethan, sure that he will sniff his fingers when he thinks noone is looking. Stretching Lucem looks around the village looking for someone who is looking more than curiously at the group and also looking for someone who may have a family resemblance to the deceased.

and says "thank you goodwoman, make haste to your home"
I will wait a short while for the people i believe are all coming to the will, namely the girl, the mask, the armour and the little person to get off the coach and I'll say "I think making it indoors before nightfall is sound advice" if everyone is ready in a suitable time frame i will head down the laneway the old spitty crone pointed out.

If we are heading down the laneway:

i will have my buckler strapped on and my sword sheathed but ready....it wouldn't be the first visitor that old crone has sent straight down Muggers alley for a few coppers in kickback

Lol, this thing between Brethan and Ulric is fun. Ulric likes his rough manner but still thinks he's quite inappropriate at times. He also knows Brethan doesn't know any different or maybe he does and doesn't give a s~@+.

The group decide to follow the old crone's words and begin to make their way down the street. As they go, they catch glimpses of folk peering from between curtains, the warm lights of their houses casting the faces in shadows. The eeriness of the moorland trip and the unfriendly greeting from the locals has most of them on edge, but it would seem hat ambush and murder are not in the townsfolk minds this night.

Leaving the village centre, they quickly find the road line with grey barked trees. The cold winter here the moorlands still clung tenaciously to the land, so the trees were still bare. Their twisted branches and heavy bark provided stark contrast against the reddened sky as the sun finally dipped below the mountain peaks in the distance.

There were few houses in this lane way,but both Lucem and Malstrom spotted a young woman standing on the verandah of one modest home, watching the group as they approached. She looked to be in her early twentys, moderately comely, and clearly a blood relation to Lorrimmor. Most likely, this was the person who sent for you all.

I get the attention of my fellow companions and say, I believe this might be the house we are looking for pointing to the dwelling with the young lady standing out front.

I continue along the pathway leading to Professor Lorrimmor's house and introduce my self to the young lady.

Bowing politely I say, Good evening Miss, how are you this cool night? I am Malstrom Kolozsvar, please to meet your aquaintence. Myself and my fellow travelers here introducing them in turn, have received a letter, which I believe came from you to inform us that dear Professor Lorrimmor past away. I am deeply sorry for your loss he was a mentor and friend to me

I think it is time for shelter.
"Good woman whether you are the person we seek or not, the sun is down, the dark approaches, and we seek shelter for the night. If you can lodge us it would be appreciated, and I can pay some coin"
d20+3=7+3=10 all i've got is intimdate as a communication skill, but i don't really want to intimidate her, can i just do the base d20=9 (?)

The woman turns her head at the sound of little gnome, and it becomes apparent to all of them that she was completely unaware they had even been there. Her face showed clear signs of recent weeping, but even so she was quite attractive. Her slim figure was clothed in dark materials, and a thin black veil hung across her upper face.

Her eyes opened a little wide at the motley crew assembled before her, before her mouth turned into a thankful smile.

"Pharasma be praised, you came!" she cried as she hurriedly moved down the stairs to greet you all with arms wide. She moved to each pary member, hugging them in turn and kissing Lucem on the cheek in friendly greeting.

"Oh, you are all just as father described. Please, come in. We have had no idea if any more people were coming, and now you all have arrived."

She ushers all of the group into a largish lounge room. Even so, there isn't enough room for everyone to sit. "I'll return with refreshments. Please make yourselves as comfortable as possible."

As an afterthought, she turns to the hulking barbarian and smiles warmly. "My fathers friends are always welcome to stay in my home. As long as you need."

Her voice caught on the last words as tears again seemed to come unbidden to her eyes. "Excuse me" she sobbed, be fore leaving the room to gather refreshments.

This is Lorrimar's daughter. Anyone who spent significant time with Lorrimar in the past (student of Lorrimar for instance) will remember her as a much younger 12 year old or perhaps as someone you caught a brief glimpse of, depending on the timing of your background. She's grown up alot since then.

In unfamiliar surrounds with unknown people, Ulric wonders why he bothered coming. He didn't want refreshments, he just wanted to get this over with. He was wondering if he could genuinely muster any empathy at the professors passing. Pharasma awaits him, let him be judged. I do suppose it is good to get in out of the weather however so let us make the most of this. He makes space in a corner near the entry way to the room and keeps his belongings close at hand.